


Seventeen (Going on Eighteen)

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Series: The Troublemaker Series [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamort, F/M, One Shot, accompanies Troublemaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: “Don’t grow up too quickly, Little Thing. You make me feel young.”“I thought I made you feel… old.” Bellatrix struggled against the pull of sleep, and suddenly his lips pressed just below her ear, and his voice was close as he said,“It’s both, somehow. It doesn’t matter. Sleep off the wine, Bella.”******************************Summer 1969. Bellatrix’s behavior at her father’s birthday party reminds Voldemort a little too keenly of their respective ages.Accompanies Troublemaker.





	Seventeen (Going on Eighteen)

**Author’s Note: This one-shot takes place in Chapter 3 of my story Troublemaker, between Bellatrix’s 6th and 7th years of school, when she’s living with Voldemort at Malfoy Manor. A week earlier, when she first cast the Cruciatus Curse, she referenced her father’s birthday party. This takes place on the day of that party. Thanks so much for reading and please do leave a quick comment if you get a moment.**

  
_Black Family Residence_  
Kensington, London  
26 July 1969

“My goodness, darling. Don’t you look stunning?”

“I don’t know; do I?” Bellatrix cocked up a brow at her mother, who was fingering the wispy black tulle skirts of Bellatrix’s ballerina-style dress. She’d completed the look with black flat leather shoes with satin ties that wound up her calves. It was a far more feminine approach than Bellatrix was used to taking. She had her anti-Apparition necklace on, of course, and she’d pulled her curly hair halfway back.

“You look like a prima ballerina,” Andromeda breathed, brushing her fingers over Bellatrix’s lace-sheathed arm. Bellatrix was uncomfortable with all the attention, the touching, so she pulled her arm back and scowled.

“Where’s Father? I need to give him the Dark Lord’s birthday gift.”

Druella’s brows went up, and Andromeda looked very upset all of a sudden. She stalked off, and Druella said lightly,

“Don’t mind her. Daddy’s in the drawing room with his friends, I think.”

Bellatrix moved wordlessly into the drawing room, her hands shaking a little around the scroll in her grasp. When she walked up to her father, Abraxas Malfoy and Tudor Yaxley stepped back, nervous little smiles on their faces. Bellatrix said warmly,

“Thirty-five whole years of age. You don’t look a day over thirty-three.”

“My dear, eldest daughter.” Cygnus bent and kissed each of Bellatrix’s cheekbones. “What a disastrous sort of troublemaker you have always been, and yet… you were the first fine gift I ever received.”

“Happy birthday,” Bellatrix said, handing over the scroll. She read the surprise on Malfoy’s and Yaxley’s faces when they saw the Dark Mark on the wax seal. Bellatrix waited patiently as her father broke the seal and unfurled the scroll, reading Voldemort’s spindly writing. His cheeks went a little pink as he rolled it back up, and he grinned as he said to the others,

“It is a most generous monetary gift to commemorate my birthday. How benevolent a master he is.”

“Indeed. Shall I thank him for you?” Bellatrix threw up a brow, and Cygnus still seemed a little uncomfortable with the knowledge that his daughter would leave his house today and go to Lord Voldemort’s bed. He licked his lip and said carefully,

“You may, darling, but I shall also write to him myself to express my gratitude. Enjoy the party. You and your sisters are so kind to hold it for me.”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it, I’m afraid,” Bellatrix shrugged. “Mr Malfoy. Mr Yaxley. Good seeing you.”

She walked away then and managed to work her way through three flutes of Champagne and two large glasses of elf-made wine. She spent the time chatting with Narcissa and Lucius, with her mother, with noted Death Eaters. She tried to make decent conversation with Andromeda. All the while she drank and drank, until finally she realised she’d be too drunk to Apparate and would Splinch herself.

“Erm… Mr Malfoy.” She approached Abraxas Malfoy at long last, waiting for him to pull away from a conversation with Avery. Malfoy seemed to notice just how drunk Bellatrix was. She stumbled a little where she stood, and she knew that it was only going to get worse. She’d downed an entire glass of wine in five minutes not very long before. She hiccupped a little and asked, “Would you be so kind as to take me to the Manor by Side-Along? I don’t… don’t want to…”

“To get Splinched. No, indeed not.” Malfoy pinched his lips a little and seemed vaguely afraid as he said, “I shall escort you into the Manor and up to his suite, and I’ll return here for the end of the party.”

“Th-thank you.” Bellatrix tripped then as she tried to reach her father. She felt an arm wrap around her, and when she looked up, Lucius Malfoy was cautiously helping her stand.

“Is she all right, Lucius?” asked Narcissa from behind him, and he said quietly over his shoulder,

“She’s had a bit much to drink is all.”

“Sorry, Cissy,” Bellatrix mumbled. “Thanks, Lucius.”

She muttered a happy birthday to her father and a farewell to her mother, and then Abraxas Malfoy led her into the foyer. He took hold of her arm with a steady grip, and Bellatrix almost vomited as soon as she came too from the Apparition. She stumbled and moaned softly as they made their way through the gardens, up the main staircase of the manor (which proved difficult just now), and through corridors. Halfway to the suite, Bellatrix saw Voldemort come striding quickly toward them, and he took Abraxas’ place at Bellatrix’s side.

“Is she that drunk?” Voldemort asked, and Abraxas answered cautiously,

“She was afraid to come on her own, Master.”

Voldemort huffed in frustration and swept his arm under Bellatrix’s knee. She felt herself cradled in his arms then, and she heard Voldemort mumble a Lightweight Charm. Then he said crisply to Malfoy,

“Thank you for bringing her. Make sure her parents know she’s fine.”

“Of course, My Lord. Miss Black.” Abraxas Malfoy walked away then, and Bellatrix stared with bleary eyes up to Voldemort. He scowled.

“You certainly smell of wine, Little Thing,” he said, and she blinked.

“There may have… may have been a little brandy, too…”

“Whyever did you drink so very much?” Voldemort asked rather sharply as he neared his suite, and Bellatrix tried to remember. Why had she drunk so much? Boredom? A desire to be piss drunk? Or was it…

“Because you weren’t… you weren’t there, My Lord.”

“Hmph. It’s times like this I remember that you’re little more than a child.” His voice was quiet but stern as he wandlessly pushed open the doors to his suite. He carried Bellatrix into the bedroom and set her down, holding her steady with his left hand as he used his wand to strip off her clothes and Banish her dress and undergarments to the wardrobe.

“ _Accio_ nightgown,” he said, and once one came soaring at him, he slipped it over Bellatrix’s head. She felt his wand brushing around his face and knew he was Scouring off her makeup.

“I can give you a potion to sober you up,” he said clinically, “or you can just sleep it off. Your choice.”

“I probably… I should… I ought to just sleep,” Bellatrix managed to say. She staggered to the bed and pulled the blankets back, moving with an abject lack of grace as Voldemort sat beside her. He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at her.

“Your father turned thirty-five today.”

“Mm-hmm.” Bellatrix nodded and shut her eyes. The room was spinning. She felt very, very nauseated. She swallowed a mouthful of acidic burn and whispered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“ _Nonemesis_ ,” Voldemort incanted, his wand dragging from her lips all the way down to her abdomen. The nausea subsided, and Bellatrix mumbled a clumsy thanks before she reminded Voldemort,

“My father was only eighteen… when I was born. He… he and my mother… they were only a little older than me when they married. When they… had me.”

“Older than you,” Voldemort scoffed, his voice almost inaudible. “What a little child you really are. And such a fool and a cur I am for wanting you so badly. I never felt old, not until I had a little creature like you clamoring at my side.”

Bellatrix felt like reminding him that he’d been the one to initiate all this by giving her a journal that day in the Doxy’s Nest. Instead she stroked at the back of his hand and insisted,

“You’re not old. You’re only forty-one.”

“Forty-two,” he corrected her, his voice sharp. “You know that when you’re sober. You got completely sloshed at your father’s birthday party - his _thirty-fifth_ birthday party - because you are little more than a child and you lack any semblance of maturity or self-control.”

That stung very badly for some reason. Bellatrix started to cry, probably because of the drink, but she knew it would only make her seem more childish to have tears running down her cheeks now. She turned away from Voldemort and clutched at the edge of the pillowcase as she mumbled,

“I’m old enough to torture for you. To kill for you. To suck your cock and be fucked by you. Master.”

“Don’t be vile,” he hissed, and Bellatrix frowned. She stared at the wall and whispered in a slur,

“I do not think we are vile, My Lord. I am… sorry. Sorry I drank so… so much. Sorry I’m so young. I’ll try to grow up for you.”

She heard him sigh a little, and then his fingers were stroking her curls. She shut her eyes and absorbed the feel of his touch, and she was almost asleep when she heard him murmur,

“Don’t grow up too quickly, Little Thing. You make me feel young.”

“I thought I made you feel… old.” Bellatrix struggled against the pull of sleep, and suddenly his lips pressed just below her ear, and his voice was close as he said,

“It’s both, somehow. It doesn’t matter. Sleep off the wine, Bella.”

She did as he commanded, drifting off to the feel of him stroking her hair, the warmth of his breath beside her, and the sound of his soft humming.

 


End file.
